


Do you require any assistance?

by kageillusionz



Series: Max and Dave [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Charles You Slut, Erik You Slut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier has been working undercover at the Hellfire Club gathering information about the going ons of the Club. To pass along the information, the Agency Charles works for has sent Erik Lehnsherr as Max Eisenhardt in, posing as one of Charles’ regular clients to get it. What was meant to be a simple in and out job turns a little more heated than either had expected things to go, with hints of repeat performances in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you require any assistance?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I'm not sure if many of you remember, but there was this fellow named Dave who left bits and pieces of fanfiction in people's tumblr askboxes in June 2013. A longer explanation for that can be found [here](http://itwasdave.tumblr.com/post/50461022245/dave-aka-the-one-responsible-for-leaving-anonymous-asks) on the itwasdave tumblr. So, uh, hello! I'm Dave.
> 
> This is that fanfiction, cleaned and newly edited for mass consumption. My thanks goes out to Fribro, **ourgirlfriday** for the quick Beta work and the always relevant Balls jokes. And of course, my Max, **harenai** for the super duper fast read and being the inspiration that you truly are.
> 
> Also, in theory, this fic is dedicated to **everyone** as a way of saying 'thank you, stay groovy fandom!'. This work has been gifted to harenai because, well, without her there wouldn't be a Max to go with my Dave ♥
> 
> The Max and Dave's outfits for this piece can be found [here](http://kageillusionz.tumblr.com/post/62799446490/do-you-require-any-assistance-rating-explicit)!

It was Friday night and the Hellfire Club was sizzling with the sound of seductive jazz music, the sight of slinky low cut dresses, and the heavy scent of cigarette smoke that curled slowly towards the ceilings. There were girls and boys in a variety of shapes, sexualities and sizes who were waiting, anticipating the moment that their regulars walked in through the heavy leather doors, whisking them away into the back rooms for a more private dance.

Friday nights were different for Charles. He always waited tables on Fridays, biding his time until the appointed time - seven o’clock sharp and not a minute later - for his one and only regular on his payroll to show up.

All around the open floor were old, sleazy men in their rumpled ties and cheap suits or young rich heiresses in red lipstick the colour of sin and nine inch stilettos eager to get a glimpse of more skin as their eyes were glued to the main attraction out on the main stage.

Charles watched them as he set down drink orders. Every patron knew better than to touch what they couldn’t afford, for there was a strict no touch policy at the Hellfire Club. Not unless they had permission to do so out in the open-area of the club. But if they could afford to become a regular, could afford to see the inside of the backrooms, then it would be up to Hellfire’s employee to negotiate their own terms.

As one of the Agency’s best operatives, Charles had long since adopted the policy that he would do whatever was required of him to see through all of his missions. If it meant undressing in front of an audience that was already thoroughly doused in alcohol to see straight, then so be it. If it meant playing a high class escort that was expected to perform sexual acts in the backrooms, then so be it.

To Charles, sex had lost all meaning after it became a part of the job.

At precisely seven, the double doors swung open to admit his regular, his contact - Max Eisenhardt - into the club. There is something about the way the man conducted himself, gracefully walking past the tables with singular purpose as he commanded attention like he was born to wield it. It was all part of his persona, Charles understood, and passed his tray over to the bartender who smirked and winked. Everyone knew about Charles’ Friday gentleman.

“Dave.”

The sound of his codename made Charles shiver inwardly. How he longed to hear Max say his real name in that low purr of his.

“Herr Eisenhardt,” Charles said, turning around with a bright smile on his face. As always, his contact looked edible in his sharp and impeccable suit. Max Eisenhardt was certainly dressed for the part of the mob boss, from the white suit and the pocketsquare, right down to the leather gloves that encased his hands and the faux snake skin print on his shoes. It made Charles feel a little self-conscious in his waistcoat, shirt and pinstriped pants.

“A pleasure as always to receive you at the Hellfire Club.”

There was the soft clink of ice against glass at his elbow. He had an idea what was placed there, taking a quick peek down to confirm that it was indeed Max’s regular drink.

“Your usual: single Malt 50 Year Macallan on the rocks.” Charles most certainly doesn’t shiver when Max’s fingers brush suggestively over his as he took the glass, downing the contents in one long swallow that showed off that long line of Max’s throat that bobbed enticingly.

“Perfect,” Max said, low and full of promise as he looked down at Charles, licking his lips to likely chase the last of the scotch from the corners of his mouth. Charles wasn’t completely convinced it was the alcohol that was being complimented and it made his cheeks flush.

“If you’ll follow me then please, Herr Eisenhardt.”

Charles lead Max past the closed doors, slipping into room number 5 and locking the door behind them. The small room was spacious enough to fit a king sized bed, decked out in satin sheets the colour of red wine and decadent cushions with more gold tassels than necessary. There was a turntable in the corner where employees and their clients could choose what music they preferred to dance to. Hidden, tucked away behind the turntable, sat a black iPod Dock; the Hellfire Club wasn’t completely stingy.

“I trust you have had a good day, sir?” Charles asked after he had docked his iPod and chosen a song from his own collection. He had walked back to stand in the middle of the room.

“Better now that you are here with me,” Max replied simply, tracing a circle around Charles, those pale gray eyes looking him up and down and not missing one detail. His heels made nary a sound as those highly polished shoes bracketed Charles from behind.

“You’re a little overdressed, Dave,” Max purred as his large hands came to rest on Charles’ biceps, rubbing up and down suggestively, and warming the skin through the shirt. “Please allow me to help.”

Charles nodded, tucking his lip in-between his teeth as Max’s large hands slipped over his clothes, unbuttoning and discarding the vest first. Max then carefully teased the shirt out of his pants and casually explored his chest and stomach with his fingers in a manner that was both incredibly lewd and sensual.

Sultry jazz music filled the air and they slowly moved to it, movements that started from the hips couldn’t be classified as grinding rather than than tasteful swaying. Max’s hands teased and caressed at the buttons of Charles’ shirt, toying with him without the burning necessity to undress him yet.

Max’s lips brushed up against the shell of Charles’ ear when he spoke, a small innocuous touch that sent fire down Charles’ body and lit him up from the inside out. “You’re a beautiful boy, Dave, and you smell so good. And your mouth must have attracted a lot of customers to Hellfire, with lips that look like they were made for cock-sucking. Just look at you.”

Charles groaned softly as he tucked both of his lips between his teeth self-consciously, his eyes falling half-mast when he looked at their reflection in the mirror. He knew he was a creature that thrived on sensory input and everything that Max was doing was turning him on, distracting him from the mission: little touches that made his skin tingle, standing close enough to smell the spicy aftershave that clung to Max’s neck, the low growls that told Charles how equally aroused Max was by the situation.

Max’s chest was pressed up tight against his back and his hands - large, callused and competent - were twisting his nipples through his shirt just enough to milk and pull sultry moans from his throat. And there was something hard that was poking Charles’ hip, an item that was decidedly not a gun for Azazel took great pleasure in stripping all patrons of their weapons.

That half hard cock digging against his arse would probably feel fantastic inside of him too. Hopefully it would - heh - come to that, Charles thought as he gyrated his hips and pressed back against Max.

“Please take a seat, sir. I believe services rendered need to be fulfilled. And trust me, I’m one of the best that Hellfire has to offer,” Charles said with a little wink. Max chuckled, an answering lascivious smirk on his lips, and extricated his arms from around Charles. He took a determined step back and then sat upon the plush red velvet of the loveseat in front of the mirror like it was his throne.

Charles slid smoothly onto Max’s lap, arms circled around his neck and circled his hips experimentally. The friction was intoxicating and left Charles burning for more.

“Your conditions?” Max asked hoarsely. Up this close, Charles observed how both of Max’s pupils were eclipsing pale irises.

He leant down to whisper against Max’s ear with a mischievous hum, “You are not allowed to touch me hereafter unless I tell you to, Herr Eisenhardt.” Max’s breath hitched and he nodded. Those hands obediently moved from where they had settled upon Charles’ hips to the arms of the seat. It was satisfying to feel Max shiver when his fingertips slipped underneath the shirt collar to stroke lightly at the fine hairs sitting on the nape of Max’s neck.

<Pay attention, Max. I need you to remember everything I tell you.> Max groaned, keeping his eyes level with Charles. There was a pulse of impatience that simmered underneath Max’s skin and Charles’ eyes flickered down to where one of Max’s hands gripped the arm of the loveseat hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. The cock underneath his inner thigh twitched.

<You expect me to remember things when you’re practically riding me right now if it weren’t for the clothes that separate us?> Max asked, his projection a little loud, but that was to be expected.

Charles smirked. <Oh please, Max. It isn’t like you haven’t done difficult things when caught in compromising positions before. Some require more concentration than others, yes, but I expect nothing less than your best.> He sat onto his haunches, far enough to tease Max with an eyeful as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly. The better to savour the pale milky skin that was revealed inch by inch.

He started the mental exchange of information just as he leant down to press his lips against the skin on the side of Max’s neck, mouthing his way up towards an ear where Charles let out a small puff of hot breath before retreating.

“Let me repay the favour, Herr Eisenhardt,” he said aloud for the sake of the security cameras that were filming them.

“Hm.”

His fingers deftly took apart the buttons of Max’s shirt one by one until he could slide his palms over Max’s pectoral muscles unhindered by fabric, grazing a nipple along the way in a not-so-innocent manner. There were scars that crisscrossed over Max’s tanned skin, speaking of missions that had gone sour, and sour fast. Max’s heart was beating underneath his hand and sweat clung to the pads of his fingers; they had survived and would continue doing so.

Wounds went hand-in-hand with working at the Agency. They were an expected part of this line of work. Charles quietly traced his fingers over knife wounds and bullet wounds, over ribs that hadn’t healed quite the way they were meant to, and a curious collection of burn marks that chased along a clavicle up towards a shoulder. Each of them had stories behind them and Charles wondered if he would ever know the reasons behind them. He could easily take them out of Max’s mind, but scars were private and Charles had always been too curious for his own good. He eased the shirt over the broad set of Max’s shoulders and coaxed Max’s gloved hands through the sleeves, then discarded the dark Oxford shirt over the back of the loveseat.

His mind worked quietly, efficiently, to dump everything he had found straight into Max’s mind. Max was mostly quiet, despite the random hitches of breath when Charles’ mouth or hands find a particularly sensitive spot.

Max’s eyes fell involuntarily shut and Charles heard, over the sound of the saxophone, his name, his codename, being reverently breathed out, like it was something to be savoured with a mouthful of fine wine. It made something inside of Charles pang that he would never hear Max say his real name like that.

Charles abruptly got off Max and stood in between his long legs. He could tell by the twitch in Max’s fingers that he wanted to reel Charles in like a fish on a line and the dark turn in his surface thoughts that there was nothing Max wanted more but to grind up against his ass.

<I heard that,> Charles informed him with a sultry purr and a wink. “You’ll like this part.”

Charles turned around to face the mirror and hooked his fingers underneath his collar, pulling upwards slowly inch by inch. Subjectively, Charles knew he had the kind of body that both genders liked to look and touch. He wasn’t overly muscular, slender and limber and filled with compact muscle that shivered as Charles pulled the shirt over his head, exposing the toned muscles in his upper body and his flat stomach.

Before this assignment, Max had very little to do with Charles at the Agency. Their orbits were never quite in the right alignment. Max was known to be a lone wolf, and was equally as bloodthirsty. He was an operative that could and would use any means, a man truly without any morals and scruples, anything necessary to achieve his mission. That was up until the time that the higher ups required Max to work with others.

And to think of the lost time when they could have spent, violating each and every unspoken rule about personal liaisons within the Agency. Dating was obviously not an option, and anything involving more commitment would lead to further complications. There have been the rarer instances where partnerships could withstand everything, but as a general rule of thumb, one should never compromise themselves by showing emotional attachments if they wanted to survive the Game long enough.

The idea of returning to base to someone was certainly not unappealing. Especially if that someone was naked and looked like Max, who had a cock that was quite possibly the best specimen Charles had ever laid eyes on. Thank you, genetics. Just thinking about Max inside of him was making him go a little cross-eyed and Charles stifled the moan in his throat before it could make it past his lips.

And Max, himself, wasn’t unaffected by it all. There was still the mission that remained their top priority. The little game they were playing was dangerous and could get them both killed. Even if Charles lived on the edge - as per their job description - and he wasn’t just going to stick his neck out and risk it because he was a little turned on.

With the last of the information transferred, Max should get the hell out of dodge. If he were smart, he oughtn’t provoke the strictly professional boundaries  in between them.

<Is it-- Was that all? Are we done?>

In lieu of answering, Charles looked at his reflection and met Max’s eye in the mirror, wetting his lips with his tongue. Max matched the look, projecting heat and desire into Charles’ head that made the very air around Charles’ body crackle with tension. He slipped his thumbs underneath the waistband of his rather indecent pinstriped pants.

He felt pleased to see how affected Max was: the tent in the front of Max’s pants was obvious to a blind person, and the fabric was straining to contain the monster within.

‘Good,’ Charles thought, ‘perhaps it would be able to break free of its material confines when I do this.’

Charles leant forward, slipping the pinstriped pants off his hips and presenting his bared asset for Max’s viewing pleasure. The tightness of the pants, indecent as they already are, doesn’t allow for any underwear. Not if he wanted them to appear like they had been painted on. He cast a half-lidded look over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink with arousal, and then kept going until they pooled on the questionably clean carpet.

He stole a peek between his legs at Max, smirking. He overheard Max’s urge to spank or to bite down into the fleshy part of his ass, could feel the intent in his lust-hazed thoughts.

<Both would be good,> Charles murmured with a sly wink, the little cocktease that he was.

When Charles finally turned around, he was naked as the day he was born. He felt the slow rake of Max’s appraising gaze from the torso southwards settling on his cock. Max sat back, spreading his legs wide, leather gloved hands resting on the inseam of his pants. As if Max needed to draw any extra attention to his own assets. There was a reason why his co-workers always teased him about his well-hung Friday gentleman and wanting in on that action.

“Perfection.”

Max tugged at the metal clasps on the back of his gloves, intent on removing them.

“No, wait,” Charles said raspily, causing Max to pause mid-tug. “Keep them on, please.”

Max smiled, revealing a set of very white and very straight teeth, the sight of which sent a shiver up and down Charles’ spine. “If that’s what you like, Dave. Though are you really in the position to be making such demands?” His voice was pitched low, huskier than normal from arousal and humour.

Charles smirked, and wet his lips. It had the desired effect when Max’s eyes flickered down to trace his tongue’s movements. “I would like that very much, sir.”

“Of course you would.”

The next song started with the sound of the saxophone playing one low sultry note. It was one that Charles liked to move to, one that he could move his hips to the beat as his hands moved in intricate patterns in the air and all over his body. He allowed the music to take him, consume him, guide him through a vaguely planned routine and slowly moved to stand in-between the splayed frame of Max’s legs.

His handed moved over his body, pinching at his nipples and skimming over his collarbones. He trailed his hands lower, over the toned flat planes of his stomach and the little hairs that lead from navel to his cock. Charles doesn’t need to open his eyes to know, to confirm where Max’s eyes were.

He turned around on his heel to face away from Max and resolutely doesn’t touch his cock. Charles knew he’d come there and then if he so much as took himself in hand and pulled gently. Instead, he goes lower still, trailing his hand down the sides of his legs and bent over, brushing the hair that fell into his eyes with his wrist.

There was a deep intake of breath.

“Dave… Please, can I--”

“You know the rules, Herr Eisenhardt,” Charles commented with a wry smirk, trailing his hands over the back of his thighs and up up up to play with twin muscular ovals. “But now that I have your attention…”

“You’ve had it all along, Dave.”

Charles chuckles darkly, and then instructed, “I want you to hold my ass cheeks open--”

Max was upon him like a flash of lightning, cool leather against heated skin. “You are a minx,” Max growled out, eyes thoroughly transfixed on the way Charles’ index finger slipped in-between to play with his own sphincter muscles.

<If we weren’t on this mission, if it wouldn’t fuck with world peace and possibly endanger thousands of lives at the Agency, I would like to take you right here, right now.> Max informed him, his tone of speech filled with desire and intent. Charles shivered.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” Max purred, voice rich and thick like dark chocolate. “I would relish the challenge of cataloguing all the noises that you make and how I can coax them out of you. I’d bet you’d even taste amazing down there.”

<And when you come, it will be my name -- my real name -- that will be spilling from your fuckable cherry red lips in ecstasy.>

Charles could tell Max was fraying if it wasn’t painfully obvious from his words. He knew that he oughtn’t be critical when it came to professional work ethics and remaining entirely unaffected during seductions -- clearly someone needed to return to Seduction School -- but Charles was oddly pleased, chuffed even, with Max’s reaction.

Max’s eyes had adopted that sort of sex crazed (or starved, it was often difficult to tell the difference) look about it that he had seen in more than a dozen men throughout the week. The type of look that guaranteed Charles would be able to ply the information he needed out of the target through the use of his lips or his hips; telepathy was only ever used as a last resort since it was one more tell if the target somehow managed to stay alive.

Although he was a telepath, Charles never expected the next few words to come out of Max’s mouth would be: “Let me suck you off.” The words must have bypassed Max’s brain-to-mouth filter, as if lust had taunted and urged the words past his lips. Those five little words made Charles’ throat go instantaneously dry.

Well. If things don’t go according to the Plan, the Hellfire Club was going to be where Charles was very likely going to end up dead. The Agency was going to find his corpse later with either a gunshot wound through a vital organ. That was, unless, the silence that hung so heavily in the musk filled air got to him first, smothering and choking Charles into a pheromones-filled death. Having his cock sucked before any of those scenarios could unfold sounded like a nicer way to go.

Max must have liked what he saw in Charles’ body language and stood up carefully as if not to break the tension, closing in upon him slowly like a predator would its prey. And since when did he stop being the predator in this scenario? Charles thought wildy.

His feet happily rooted into the ground and his muscles were pulled taut. Charles muttered something sacrilegious underneath his breath when Max stood close enough to touch. The sound his throat made when he swallowed sounded far too loud to his ears despite the low chords of music and the sounds of sex coming from the room next door.

“Well? I don’t usually go around making offers like that to just anyone.”

Charles answered him with a rolled his hips backwards, his bare ass brushing up against the front of Max’s pants. “That would certainly be lovely. Yes, please, Herr Eisenhardt.”

That was consent in a beautiful three lettered word, and it apparently had the magical properties of making Max’s cock harder than physiologically possible. And Max gently turned him around until they were standing toe-to-toe.

“Just let me--”

Charles looked over Max’s shoulder, difficult as it was due to the height difference, and wrapped both arms around Max’s neck. Damn, couldn’t they have sent a shorter agent for this? Charles grumbled in thought.

He made a series of signals with his hands to the hidden camera and when he was done, pressed his entire front against Max’s crotch. At this distance, Charles could see the way Max’s adam’s apple bobbed temptingly.

Max raised an eyebrow.

Charles hummed, a naughty smirk on his face. “Just so security knows to not throw you out. They get a bit twitchy when clients touch without explicit permission.” He leant in close and ran his nose against the side of Max’s neck and took a breath in. Out of all the men and women Charles had had to sleep with - willing or not - Max smelt the best.

“I would like to see them try,” Max ground out.

Charles shushed him and ran his nose against Max’s jaw. <I would much prefer it if you expend your energy elsewhere, if you catch my drift.>

Max huffed out a small snort and then turned them around, whispering into Charles’ ear under the guise of a playful nibble. “Don’t worry, Dave. I know what I’m doing.”

The slightly miffed expression on Charles’ face when Max pulled back clearly said: ‘You had better.’

“Here. Take a seat,” Max said magnanimously, gently pushing Charles down to sit upon the plush velvet seats. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Charles does. The velvet feels heavenly against his ass, and he spread his legs invitingly. His cock stood proudly amongst its nest of ginger, and the head was an angry red colour that leaked pearls of white. He had the audacity to look up coyly through his eyelashes to see what Max would do next. The ball was in his court.

Max went down onto his knees willing, uncaring if he ruined the knees of his suit. Charles felt his breath hitch when one gloved hand pressed up along the inside of his right thigh and watched as Max cupped his balls, testing the weight of it in his hand and fondled them slowly, rolling them in his palms.

“Touch yourself, Dave. I want to see how you’d jerk yourself off.”

Charles nodded and reached down to wrap his hand around the base of his cock, stroking upwards to reach the tip, and then back down, adding a little twist to reach the base again. Max had a lazy grin on his face, almost close to salivating as he licked his lips.

“Having second thoughts?” Charles asked, an eyebrow raised as he motions with his chin down at his cock. His hips roll forward on their own volition, in case Max required a physical reminder; the head missing Max’s lips by mere millimetres.

Max let out a derisive huff of breath and shook his head, licking his lips again that bordered on obscene. It was almost as if he anticipated what Charles would taste like upon his tongue. “No,” he said at long last, “just admiring the scenery.”

Max’s palms settled on the back of Charles’ hand, the leather smooth over the back of his hand. He squeezed gently. “Allow me.”

Charles happily re-situated his hands into Max’s hair, introducing some chaos into the gel that kept dark brown strands swept into a stylish wave. He wondered what Max would look like in the morning, his hair in a disarray upon white pillows and then wrinkled his nose. Bed hair could make a person like Max, all serious and frowny face, undoubtedly adorable.

Max spent a long moment recreating the exact way Charles liked to stroke himself off. It was a moment too long, and Charles’ patience had reached its end. <Open up, Max,> Charles’ mentally protested, interrupting Max’s current thought train of how it was the most perfect erection in the history of all erections ever. <I want to see my cock between your lips. And as much as I’d love for you to give a more thorough exploration, that’ll have to wait when we’re not both not working.>

There was a hot puff of air and then the most exquisite heat enveloped around the head of his cock. Max’s tongue lapped at the slit, replacing the semen there with saliva. Charles had yet to see what Max’s cock looked like unclothed, but from the way Max was so intensely focussed with his foreskin perhaps hinted at some sort of novelty Max found there.

It felt criminally good, the way Max lapped and sucked and swirled his tongue. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that Max wasn’t good at this, perhaps a little bit sloppy, but talented enough to pass muster and get the job done. He inhaled in small staggered breaths, in-between the slow scrape of Max’s teeth along the underside of his cock and then the teasing swirl of his tongue along his already sensitive head.

If his brain wasn’t already entirely consumed by the need to get off and get off right the fuck now, perhaps Charles would have been altruistic in offering some pointers he’d worked out. As it were, Charles was mostly undone, hurtling towards that place where his body felt weightless and he could see stars burst into life behind his eyelids. Distantly, Charles was very glad that the Hellfire Club had invested in soundproofing the backrooms; he had been told by many of his past lovers (targets) that he was quite the screamer. And judging from the shit-eating grin on Max’s face, that statement was true.

Charles’s grip went through cycles of relaxation in his hair like he was urging a racehorse on towards the finish. Max smirked against his skin, pulling the shaft away to tongue at his balls. Charles’ hands tightened in Max’s hair and a low, embarrassing whine escaped his throat. He wanted Max back on his cock, he had been so close to coming and--

“Close.” The ‘you bastard’ was left dangling at the end of that sentence.

Max flicked his eyes up and chuckled. Charles tipped his head back, uncaring if he exposed his throat to a fellow agent. Fuck it if it seemed like a sign of submission. Fuck it, Charles thought to himself as his entire entire body tensed, arching off the loveseat like a bow poised for release.

Max swallowed around him without preamble, until Charles could feel the back of Max’s throat and then some. Max moaned filthily, making the most pleasant fluttering sensation around his cock. It unintentionally sent Charles’ hips forward into that incredible wet and tight space. It was addictive. He wanted so much more and to last a little bit longer, long enough to fuck Max’s throat. But as it were, Charles was already coming apart at the seams and sending his semen down that route.

And fuck was it glorious.

His body felt like it was on cloud nine, reeling from a bloody fantastic orgasm. His mouth was wide open, gasping for air to reach his lungs, blood racing throughout his body. Even his toes were curled. And Charles could count on one hand how many toe-curling orgasms he has had.

“Fuck.”

Fighting to crack open his eyelids, he looked past his heaving chest and quivering stomach, and saw that Max hadn’t moved very far. In fact, Max was licking at his softening cock. Licking it clean.

“Double fuck.”

Max chortled and finally pulled off when Charles pushed his head gently away. He pulled the pocket square out from its home and wiped the saliva and whatever else from his chin.

Max ran his fingers over Charles’ thigh gently, letting Charles ride out his post-orgasmic high. It tickled. “Fuck,” he agreed solemnly. He was thinking rather loudly about all the things he wanted to do to Charles.

Charles looked past Max to look at himself in the mirror. His skin was flushed pink, a colour that travelled all the way down along his neck to his chest; his eyes were bright; his lips were puffy and swollen, almost as if Max had kissed and nibbled them that way; and worst of all was his hair that was a frightful mess. It was obscene and Charles looked nothing less than thoroughly shagged out.

“Take off your pants, Herr Eisenhardt,” Charles groaned out, watching as Max scrambled to comply with the buttons of his white slacks, the zipper miraculously being pulled down by invisible fingers. Normally, Charles would be ecstatic at the discovery of a new mutation in a fellow agent, but not right now. Especially not when Max had freed his erection out of his pant leg.

God have mercy, Charles thought, his mouth salivating at the sight. It really was as big as it felt.

Charles shuddered and moved to sit up properly, curling his arms loosely around Max’s head and resting his cheek on the crown of his head, his weight welcome against Max’s shoulders.

“Give me a minute and I’ll help you with that.”

One minute became two, and after his heart rate had returned to something more normal, Charles slid into Max’s lap. He pressed a soft kiss into the side of Max’s neck and then trailed his hand languidly around Max’s cock.

The rhythm was rough and Charles cheated a little with his telepathy, taking his cues from Max’s fascinating swirl of thoughts. Charles was ranked higher than a stakeout wank. A little insulting, but then again, Max hadn’t had his mouth on that.

“Have to take a raincheck on that one,” Max growled out.

“Pity that our time together is so short, Herr Eisenhardt.”

“Mm. I shall have to make an arrangement for more of your time with Shaw.” There was a hint of something dangerous there. Max’s grudge against that man was legendary and it was only because Shaw was remotely related to the mission that Max had even picked this case at all.

“Please do. I look forward to spending time with you, sir.”

“Oh, I bet you do. Now get on with it.”

Charles’ thumb played with the tip of Max’s cock and smearing all the pre-come gathered there around the head. There was an almost borderline affectionate nuzzle against Max’s ear and Max shifted his hold on Charles to embrace him like lovers would, thrusting up into the circle of Charles’ fingers, once, twice, and then came hard with a grunt as orgasm overwhelmed him.

Max was disinclined to move straightly after, his arm hooked possessively around Charles’ waist.  Charles had been given the time to enjoy his high, and he was going to extend that same courtesy to Max.

Reflecting upon the experience, he had surprisingly enjoyed Max’ company. And he wasn’t bad to look at. That was a huge plus. Perhaps arrangements could be made at some later date. Possibly. It would be criminal to not have a sample of that cock in all of his available orifices repeatedly. And Charles does, after all, fight crime for a living.

“Herr Eisenhardt?”  

Damn. There was still the mission to think about, hardly time for them to enjoy the afterglow together. There were still people milling about outside. Fuck.

“Yes?”

“I suggest that we get dressed, regretful as that task may be. I’m afraid our time together does draw to a close very soon.”

The mission was important and it should have been the first thing on their minds. Agency probably could have both of their heads for this if they ever found out.

Max took one last breath of Charles’ scent and then leaned back, and Charles mirrored the movements. He was still not quite willing to release Max just yet; his fingers were still interlaced against the nape of Max’s neck, teasing at the little hairs there.

“Do you require any assistance?” Max asked. Which probably, in hindsight, should have been the first thing Max should have asked before they even started anything. But it was obvious that Max had been thoroughly enraptured by Charles that he had been swept along for the ride. Charles supposed it helped a little that he had projected confidence and competence to ease Max along.

“That won’t be necessary. The sentiment is appreciated, thank you.”

Charles slid from his lap and began cleaning himself off with some tissues. He tossed the used tissues into the bin in the corner and re-dressed quickly, sliding into the pair of wrinkled and forlorn pinstriped pants.

Max took one to clean the mess off his hands and then turned around. There was an oddly thoughtful look on his face.

“Is kissing allowed?” Max asked. Charles was a little taken aback by the question. He knew some people in the business preferred no lip contact at all and he wondered if that extended to undercover agents.

“I’m afraid it’s a little late to start that now, Herr Eisenhardt.”

“But perhaps next time? I have been told I-- I need to be kissed more often and by someone that knows how.” His voice was huskier than normal, a combination of deep-throating Charles earlier and the swirl of embarrassment.

The statement startled a laugh out of Charles. Was he being in character now or was there perhaps something more? “It’s a promise then for next time,” Charles replied, stepping up closely and angled his head upwards for something chaste.  

<One week left. If you are as good an agent as you are rumoured to be, you will know where.>

“I will be available from 11 onwards on Friday if you are interested, Herr Eisenhardt. Perhaps an excursion would be nice if you can arrange it with Mr. Shaw?”

The smile that crossed Max’s face was positively predatory. “I will see what I can do, Dave.” Taking one last look at his appearance, Max walked out the door with a wave.

One more week, and then Max was his to do with as he wished.


End file.
